Abduction
by purpleicecrystals
Summary: An AU where Circus is an international government organisation, and Kafka is a group of scientists researching human mutations, who broke away from the elite Research Tower to experiment, create, and sell drugs on the black market to wealthy people and corporate tycoons obsessed with strength, money, and immortality. Prompt: Uro, a member a Kafka, abducts Akari


A fanfic request recommissioned to me by the wonderful, sweet Azii; our resident Hirakari goddess.

This is my first multi-chapter end fic, so please help me improve if there is anything that you notice!

With immense help from nin-anna, Azii, and PIX (purpleicecrystals— shares account with me on ffNET)

_DISCLAIMER: no Akari's were harmed in the making of this fic! Note that I do not study this area, so please forgive and inform me of any things I have missed._  
_Since sustained amounts of chloroform must be used to keep someone under, and can cause permanent liver damage, pretend that either Akari is a medical anomaly, or that in this universe chloroform is not permanently harmful. Preferably the latter._

* * *

Akari blearily blinked his eyes. His head pounded, and every movement he made caused his pressed shirt to crinkle, each little sound setting off star bursts of pain.

Glancing at his surroundings, Akari swiftly concluded that he was in what appeared to be a high school chemistry classroom. It was rather odd, actually, that he was not blindfolded. Surely Uro knew better than to let Akari know the location of where he was, and the appearances of his minions?

The day had begun much like every other day that had passed, perhaps even more mundane than usual. Lady Luck has a way of blessing people with the excitement they lacked, in full, perhaps even with interest.

Most teachers and workers assume that being a researcher must never be boring— especially when you have grants and endless time to mess around in the Research Tower— which was a gift (that was available only to the extremely talented and elite).Unfortunately, that is incorrect, as there are times, as there is with all things, when you have binge-worked to the point of vomiting if ever you cast your eyes upon your work again.

This was such a time. Akari had arrived early at the Research Tower that morning, at 6:15, Yogi said, but then he had been looking at the clock sideways, so it was in actuality closer to 4:00, digging through the heaps of paper scraps, files, and notes heaped beneath his rather large desk. He had already occupied the floor space of three cubicles, and his territory was only growing. Yogi was an unorganised, childish imbecile.

It was apparent in the Nyanperowna boxers he wore (supposedly and truthfully from the adult male section, although he was likely the only client who wasn't buying them as gifts to ageing men in a desperate attempt to make them feel more youthful), the 14 packets of sugar he unfailingly dumped in his latte every morning, the disorganised Olympus of trash and case files mixed together and strewn about his ample workspace, and finally and most prominently, the incredible living cultures he unwittingly cultivated in dark corners of the office. There was a mouldy sandwich in the top drawer of his largest cubicle, saturated in spilt maple syrup and impaled by old cashews. It was rumoured that several beetles had tried to penetrate the sweet solid, but had only become petrified in syrup as a result.

Tsukumo had found a three-month old chocolate-macadamia cookie, which, at one point had been positively heavenly, but was presently hardened with larvae shells on it, half of the chocolate eaten. A raging Eva has decimated the third floor as a result (it had to be reconstructed, as well as the subsequent twenty-or-so floors above it— Eva had a very... erm... explosive reaction to this "lovechild of chicken feet and dead toad").

A few weeks ago, Azana had seen ants teeming to the lab in steady streams of black, to discover, horrifyingly, the monstrosity that is the union of a lemon trifle, half a raspberry tart and Twizzler bits. It had been left in the heart cell cultures, which had taken thirty or so generations (attempts) over eleven months to cultivate.

Azana had already been covered in small, paw-shaped bruises from Hearty (the small Akari-infatuated fuzzy blob), so he finally rejected reality and ran for Akari.

A bemused Akari was left to piece together the unintelligible gibberish that was flowing like a stream into which large and angry cows were irregularly and violently falling.

When Azana eventually began to accept the truth, he had a mental break down and cried on Akari's shoulder so much, it looked as if the doctor had been watered by all the water in a half-ton rain-collecting tank.

This incident was the most disgusting and horrendous display of human idiocy and carelessness. Thank Whatever-Entity-Out-There-Please on a kebab that Yogi was kept way from the labs at all times!

If Akari's memory served him right (it was not really a question— Akari is clearly supernatural and beyond the limit of human capability), it was Hirato (that conniving rake) that had ordered Yogi to help with the lab. Hirato then successfully extracted Akari from the wicked steel jaws of the lab and off to imprisonment of another sort... At Tsukitachi's "tea party."  
Honestly, he's had them for years now, and the only thing he consistently sees is alcohol. Sometimes– or, rather all of the time– there isn't even tea. You had to give the shrewd First Ship Captain a round of applause for putting the wine in teapots and repackaging and labelling all contents. "Part of the trade," he says. Funny, but Akari didn't really think he'd been a smuggler... Perhaps he's had practice from the "tea parties" he had while in Kuronomei? They had certainly started long before he'd graduated or was old enough to drink legally.

Truly, it was the eighth wonder of the world that he was still alive. If he was normal, he would've died of liver failure before turning twenty.

Tsukitachi and Hirato had collaborated in an elaborate scheme to drive him absolutely nuts.

They had wisely chosen to escape his Yogi-obliterating wrath and return to their duties in their own headquarters before lunch, instead of further vandalising the Research Tower.

And Bizante, wonderful manager that he is, had told him to let it go! It was not until late that night, nearly half past ten, that he finally tottered angrily out of the office.

It should have been absolutely no surprise that Akari was taken off guard that night.

Akari sighed discontentedly whilst pinching the bridge of his nose. He had not felt this nauseous and internally unsettled in his life, save for a few extreme "tea party" parties, involving kegs of cheap alcohol (the first ship captain was not one to freely give out good alcohol— it was too dear to his heart), audacious young things in gaudy dress, milling around wildly to an obnoxious beat.

The parties were rather disturbing, actually, all the sweat and handsy bodies grinding on each other for want of space, uninhibited screaming and singing (for Nai's sake, even Yogi's squeaks, cries, and whimpers were more or less bearable, even if dealing with cowardly, snivelling patients wasn't in the job description), and overall chaos that could make the demons of the ninth circle of hell cower. Not to mention the foul mix of body odour, cigarette smoke, food, and perfume and cologne.

Curse Tukitachi for choosing booths at the back of famous bars to throw his tea parties! To all those who have been convinced of his charm, dress, and classiness: that is an act, that is a uniform, and that is his job. Of course he excels at it.

And the tall creepy man in the corner yelling stupid things and compliments to a group of unappreciative teenage girls. The spastic one in the spandex struck the evil beanpole in the stomach with a heel. It's funny, because he tried to avoid being impaled on an article of clothing, and in doing so, had bashed his face into the railings, and body-slammed himself into the floor. As Tokitatsu would say with unabashed cheer, "one hit KO!"

There was also a dubious and very happy group of potheads upstairs, puffing away cheerily, leisurely melting into giant puddles of pudding. In the doorway, one of the guards was trying to throw out a clingy, dangerously intoxicated preppy youth, whose legs were wrapped around the pillar. His angry beau and ex-girlfriend were rolling on the floor, attempting very amateurish reconstructive surgery. Akari swore he could do better while drunk.

The nausea and headache that had settle in again, and Akari could remember Yogi, sobbing grossly in his peripheral vision while Tsukitachi cackled, rounding the corner that lead to the elevator.

Hirato and Tsukitachi had run away from him, so they must not be expecting or attempting to contact him soon, right? Akari wondered when people would discover him missing, and frantically search for him. Speaking of which, he was 76% positive that Tsukitachi was spectacularly so. Akari shifted, to take in his surroundings? He just hoped that they were conscious enough to think clearly, and were coherent enough to wonder where he was.

Hungover ship captains never lived to their true potential— and more often than not, were childish, thoughtless, and prone to near-death incidents.

He swore that he would buy drinks for the one who first realised he was missing. Azana, he mused, would be the most likely candidate. As it was pointless to think through a headache, Akari closed his eyes and resolved to take as short a nap as possible.

* * *

Eep, I need help! I have NO IDEA whatsoever what to name this! Please take some time to throw in some suggestions! Also, feel free to comment or suggest things you would like to see or would like to be fixed or changed.

Thank you for reading! (⌃͈ᗜ⌃͈)

Also credit to nin-anna, PIX (fanfiction, co-account sharer with me), and Azii for suggestions, ideas, and help!


End file.
